The Other Duke (13 page)

Rafe stepped from the door of his club and onto the drive with a sigh. He had once
liked
visiting there, but now he felt everyone
watching
him and heard his name whispered as he passed. Even old friends treated him differently.

It was yet one more reminder that his life would never again be the same.

But he would adjust, of course. Already he was doing so with Serafina. The past two days between them had been a heavenly experience of mounting passion.

He smiled as his carriage was brought to the club drive. As his driver began to step down, he raised a hand to stop him.

“My brother’s home is so close by and the weather is fine. I think I’ll walk.”

His driver smiled. “Of course, Your Grace. I will meet you there.”

The carriage took off again and Rafe sighed. A walk would do him good. At least it would give him time to reflect.

He strolled down the walkway in the direction of his brother’s home. The sun was shining, the birds were singing. Two weeks ago, he wouldn’t have had a care in the world to ruminate upon. But now he found himself considering his wife again and again. Her body, of course, but more than that.

It was almost a week since they wed and he grew closer to her each day. More interested in her with every moment they shared. He felt her relaxing in his presence and she was slowly revealing more of herself when they talked.

But she
still
insisted that they would part as soon as a house could be procured for her. A house, Rafe had to admit, he hadn’t even begun to seek out, despite his promises.

He frowned as he approached the intersection to his brother’s block of the street. He looked for approaching vehicles and riders and when the street was clear, he stepped out to make his way across.

He’d taken no more than three steps when the tremendous thundering of hooves echoed toward him. He turned toward the sound and gasped as he saw a carriage careening toward him at full speed. There were screams from other walkers as he dove forward and rolled into the gutter just as the vehicle screeched past him and veered around the corner so quickly that it nearly toppled itself over.

Rafe rolled to face the carriage, certain it would stop and the driver and occupant would have an apology or explanation for their reckless behavior, but the vehicle kept going. It weaved through the traffic on the next street, nearly colliding with other drivers as it disappeared from view.

“Sir!”

Rafe looked up to see a man reaching out for him. He took the offered hand of assistance and climbed to his feet.

“Are you injured?” his helper asked him as Rafe dusted himself off.

He tested his arms and legs and found no serious pain in any of them. “A bit bruised, perhaps, but no injury,” he assured the Good Samaritan and the others who had stopped to gape at him.

“Bloody lucky—it came right for you,” the man said with a shake of his head. “A fine carriage it was, too, to be driven so wildly.”

Rafe looked again in the direction the carriage had escaped. “Lucky indeed that I was not struck,” he murmured. “Thank you again for the assistance.”

The man nodded and walked away, leaving Rafe to his own devices. He wiped a suddenly sweaty brow and shook his head. He had never been so close to death before and he found it made him think even more about his wife…and his future.

Despite the fact that those two subjects were supposed to be mutually exclusive.

“Great God, don’t
you
look a fright,” Crispin said as Rafe entered his parlor a few moments later.

Rafe glared at his brother and said nothing as he poured himself a hefty glass of scotch from the sideboard near the fireplace. When he’d taken a gulp, he turned toward his waiting sibling.

“I was almost killed,” he said, then explained what had just happened in the street.

Crispin stepped back in stunned surprise as Rafe finished his story. “My God.”

“Quite,” Rafe agreed as he paused at the mirror above the fireplace to fix himself. Once he had done so, he turned back to Crispin. “But I survived, so…” he trailed off with a wave of his hand.

Crispin shook his head, his frown deep and dark. “Always so nonchalant.”

Rafe smiled, but inside he felt anything but nonchalant about the day’s events. “I refuse to dwell on what
might
have happened,” he lied.

His brother took a drink and examined him closely. “Very well. Then perhaps you would prefer to dwell on what has.”

Rafe shook his head. “What do you mean?”

“How do you find being a duke suits you?”

Rafe looked over the edge of his tumbler of whiskey and glared at Crispin, whose tone was now laced with sarcasm and whose eyes glittered with the same.

“Did you invite me to your home today to delight in my pain?” Rafe asked.

Crispin shook his head. “You know I could never do that, Raphael. I have had many a sleepless night as I pictured you on this hellish path.”

Rafe wrinkled his brow. “You may be overstating it a bit, Crispin.”

“Am I? You were free as a lark not a fortnight ago, without a care in the world. And now you are surrounded by foolery. Nearly being mown down in the street is almost a metaphor.”

“Crispin—” Rafe began.

His brother ignored him. “I’ve heard via Annabelle and Mama that you’ve been invited to some of those ridiculous Society parties we took so much care to avoid over the years. Is the new duchess dragging you there?”

Rafe stiffened at the way Crispin referred to Serafina. “I thought you liked ‘the new duchess’. If you do not, I think you should hold your tongue. That is my wife to whom you are referring.”

Crispin’s rigid posture collapsed a little and he sank into the closest chair with a sigh. “I like her as far as I know her, yes.”

Rafe frowned. He could see the true concern all over Crispin’s face and he loved his brother for it. Rafe set his drink aside and took the seat beside him.

“It isn’t so bad as all that,” he reassured Crispin softly. “As I settle in, I realize more and more that there is a great deal of responsibility, yes. I have an entail to rebuild thanks to the utterly foolish business decisions of Cyril’s part of the family. I have tenants.”

“You had tenants before, on the Sussex estate,” Crispin sighed.

“Yes,” Rafe acknowledged. “But not like this. There are probably twice as many, if not more, in Cyril’s holdings and they haven’t been treated particularly well over the years. There are amends to be made.”

“And what of the balls and the frippery?” Crispin asked, giving him an even look.

“My first inclination was to avoid such things, of course.” Rafe shook his head. “But Serafina has made some very good points about cutting myself away from men who would be my peers. Men who could help me as I made my transition into the House of Lords.”

His brother grumbled even more dissatisfaction and Rafe smiled again at Crispin’s over protectiveness.

“I think the elder brother is supposed to watch the younger like a hawk, not the other way around,” he teased.

Crispin, for once, didn’t join in. “I don’t want to see you forced into some other person’s life, Rafe.”

Rafe flinched. That was exactly what had happened since Cyril’s death. And yet, there were parts of it that weren’t so terrible.

A brief flickering image of Serafina arching beneath him passed through his mind and he exerted effort to make it go away.

“At any rate, Sera isn’t dragging me into anything. But she has been raised and taught to be a duchess almost her entire life. She is offering me help to be the best duke I can be and I appreciate that. So should you. Trust me, without a guide, the entire endeavor would be far less tolerable.”

Crispin stared at him for what felt like a very long time.

“What is it?” Rafe finally sighed.

“
Sera
?” his brother repeated, somewhat incredulously.

Rafe rolled his eyes. “It is a shortening of her name,
Cris
, nothing more. What of it?”

Crispin smothered a smile at the old nickname Rafe had called him as a child, but then his face was serious again. “Nothing at all. I just thought you and
Sera
had agreed she would be moved into her own home after the wedding.”

Rafe pushed to his feet and paced away. He’d been just thinking that same thing not ten minutes before.

“These things take time, Crispin. I’m trying to find her the perfect accommodation.” He stared out the window, thinking of her. “She deserves nothing less.”

His brother made a sharp sound, and Rafe turned to find Crispin on his feet, staring at him. “Tell me you aren’t developing feelings for Serafina.”

Rafe clenched his fists at his sides, but it wasn’t because Crispin was out of line. It was because he had just broached a subject Rafe had been trying very hard to avoid.

He cleared his throat. “Feelings? I suppose I am.”

Crispin’s face contorted with something akin to horror.

“I
like
her,” Rafe explained. “I am developing respect for her. I’m constantly surprised by her. Those are all
feelings
, Crispin.”

“Rafe.”

“Crispin.”

His brother shook his head slowly and his tone was gentle when he said, “Don’t get caught up in romantic notions, Raphael. You two were thrown together by ridiculous circumstances, and she
is
beautiful. No one could deny that fact.”

“She is far more than that,” Rafe said softly, thinking of their conversation of two nights before when she had expressed a wish to be seen as more than her looks.

Crispin’s lips pinched. “Perhaps she is, but she was never
your
choice. And you were never hers. You may swoop in like a white knight in some attempt to make her more comfortable, but don’t mistake that notion for anything deeper.”

Rafe stiffened. His brother was closer to the mark than he knew. Crispin didn’t know what Serafina had suffered at their cousin’s hands, nor did Rafe have any intention of sharing Sera’s secret, even with his best friend and brother. But Crispin was still correct that Rafe
did
want to give her so much to make up for what she’d endured. She deserved that and so much more.

“You are being an idiot,” he breathed, trying not to meet his brother’s seeing eyes.

Crispin shrugged. “Then I am an idiot. And you will do the best thing for everyone involved and get Serafina the house she wants for herself. You will move her out of your home. And you’ll get a mistress to warm your bed.”

Rafe gripped a fist at his side, but his tense posture didn’t put Crispin off a bit.

“What about that widow…what was her name…Lady Braehold?” Crispin smiled. “You liked each other well enough.”

Rafe scowled. “The viscountess and I had one night together, Crispin, over a month ago. And while it was certainly pleasurable, it wasn’t something I am aching to repeat.”

In fact, he wasn’t aching to repeat anything with any woman. Except Serafina, who kept wending her way through his thoughts until he could see her perfectly when he closed his eyes.